


We Were Strangers Many Hours

by meditationsinemergencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, First Love, Fluff, Ilvermorny, Lots of American Lit References I'm Sorry, Mostly Fluff, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-War, Slow Burn, Some angst, Star-crossed, probably too much fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21780457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/pseuds/meditationsinemergencies
Summary: It had been 2,933 days since Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger had last seen one another at Fleur and Bill’s wedding.They would go a total of 2,953 days before they’d see one another again.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 31
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrumPuffer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrumPuffer/gifts).



> This story is for my dear friend,[KrumPuffer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrumPuffer/profile).
> 
> The title comes from The Gaslight Anthem song, "We Did It When We Were Young"
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful [adavison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adavison/profile) for always being willing to brainstorm and chat and edit and encourage!

**_Preface - August 12th 2005_ **

One of Viktor Krum’s favorite places to go was a bookstore and coffee shop near Ilvermorny called Nevermore Books. When he walked in it was always the smell of the place that hit him first: warmly roasting coffee, a hint of sweet blueberries from the muffins, the familiar smell of pages resting upon pages and pages. God, he loved this shop. At first glance, it looked small — walls lined with books and a tight-fitted bar area serving drinks and pastries. There was a narrow passageway that led to a set of stairs; if you followed these stairs you would be led down to a gigantic room -- probably magically enlarged -- filled with stacks and stacks of books, so many, in fact, that one could easily lose track of themselves.

Krum was making his way towards the narrow passageway, coffee in hand, when he noticed a woman standing between the stacks. She wore a floppy light-brown sun hat, and her arm was reaching upward to pull down a book -- her face obscured from view. The woman wasn’t very tall, and she had to really stretch to grab the book she had chosen. She wore a long green peasant skirt and its waistband rested just above her navel. In her stretch for the book, the white top she was wearing pulled up slightly, which gave him a glimpse of the warm-glow of the skin on her midriff. 

He didn’t know it, but her hair, wild and unruly spirals of chestnut brown, had been gathered and bunched at the top of her head, hidden from view; he didn’t know it, but had her arm not been helping obscure her profile, he would have spotted a few tendrils that softly framed her face. He didn’t know it, but he would have recognized her hair immediately, even if he hadn’t seen her face; he also would have recognized her profile immediately, especially with the flyaway curls he used to admire so, but her arm, as it was, had been in the way. 

Krum decided not to go down the narrow-passageway, as he didn’t want to bother the woman -- as to not force their bodies together in an uncomfortable way. Instead, he turned back towards the front of the shop and eyed some books in the section for “New Used!”

The woman eventually made her way to the basement to browse and, at some point, Viktor did, too. Seeing as how the basement was so large and so dense with books, the pair never met. 

It had been 2,933 days since Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger had last seen one another at Fleur and Bill’s wedding. 

They would go a total of 2,953 days before they’d see one another again. 


	2. Chapter 2

2004 

To put it simply, Viktor Krum was exhausted.

It wasn't just the physical demands of quidditch that wore on him, it was everything that went along with it: the attention and expectations.

Krum considered stepping away from quidditch after the Second Wizarding War. He felt that participating in something as inane as quidditch, after the loss and the suffering, was meaningless, but he couldn't step away. Not now. Quidditch brought happiness when happiness was few and far between. And so, for several years after, Krum continued to play. He continued to pose for the press, to give away snitches to little kids, to attend events and the parties after the events. He mingled with women, spent his nights with them, and he drank enough to numb his loneliness, but not enough to destroy his career. Rumors were spread weekly about which witch he was sleeping with and weather the brooding bachelor would ever settle down. Krum wasn't cruel to the women he saw. He let them know early on that he wasn't looking for love or a relationship. Most women understood, others saw him as a thing to be fixed and claimed. Krum knew there was no fixing him. He was haunted with all that he had lost -- his mentor, his family, his home, and, of course, Hermione Granger. 

After his last quidditch game against Ireland, Krum knew he was done. He wasn’t old by any stretch of the imagination but he just simply was done. He approached his agent, Claude Cunningham, about his concerns, and, to his surprise, Claude understood and made it clear he would find something else suitable for him. 

A month after his admission to his agent, Cunningham sent him an owl.

Viktor,

I believe that I have found something for you. There is a school in America, Illverymorny, that is looking for a new quidditch instructor. The AQL, American Quidditch League, is making a more concerted effort to train it’s quidditch players at an early age. I do believe the AQL is disappointed in its performance against Europe the past several decades. 

You would need to leave for America mid-July. The school will provide you with a home off-campus. Illverymorny is in the North Eastern part of the United States. It's a very lovely area; I've been there a few times myself. 

You will have a nice salary and still be involved in quidditch but not so rigorously. 

(Also, I thought you might enjoy the time away from Europe.)

Please respond by tomorrow evening with your acceptance or rejection. 

Best,

Claude

It took almost no time for Krum to make his decision. The idea to move and teach in America seemed like a dream. He would be able to escape everything about his past that haunted him so. 

Maybe he'd even meet a nice American witch to distract him from the hole left in his heart by Hermione Granger.

Krum knew it had been years since he and Hermione had spoken, but she still crossed his mind often, and he still wished things had happened differently. He never put the blame on anyone for the failure of their relationship: They were so young when they met; they were so young when the war broke out. It wasn't something either of them were in control of. 

The year before Hermione left to hunt horcruxes with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, had been the hardest for Krum. The two corresponded regularly, but as tensions grew throughout Europe, their correspondence was no longer safe. Viktor was born into a dark-wizarding family, went to a school that was predominantly staffed and enrolled with dark wizards. Viktor, however, knew of the suffering from dark wizards, as his grandfather was murdered by Grindelwald. Regardless of alliance, cross-continental conversation wasn't safe, and slowly the letters stopped altogether. 

He saw her at Fleur and Bill's wedding. They danced briefly -- reminiscent of their dance at the Yule Ball. They barely spoke, but as the song ended Hermione said, "If this ends in favor of Harry. If this ends and we win, I'd...I’d like for us… just be in touch, please?" She parted from him and moments later, the message that the ministry had fallen was sent, and Hermione and the boys were gone. He spent the next ten months riddled with anxiety. He had no idea where she was or if she was okay, and he was deeply concerned he'd never hear from or see her again. 

All those years ago, when he arrived at Hogwarts, he was disgusted by the prejudice of blood status in certain sects of the school, disgusted with how similar it was to the prejudice in his own school. Despite being wildly popular amongst girls, Krum kept to himself. He was quiet. He enjoyed reading. He took up solace in Hogwarts library where he found himself taken with a female student a few years below him. Once he and Hermione became close, Krum easily and quickly fell in love with her. Years later, Krum would argue that he fell in love with Hermione long before they even spoke. He couldn’t help but admire her from afar -- the look on her face as she read, the deliberate way she turned the pages of a book, the way she would pin her hair back with her wand, and so on. 

Truth be told, Krum never really stopped loving her, but the war put them both in situations that didn't allow love to come easily, if at all. 

The war, however, ended. It ended in favor of Harry Potter and the Order and the Light. Europe had been restored, and Hermione had been a huge part of it all. Krum had not.

Krum tried to avoid the papers at all costs; he couldn't bear to see Hermione Granger's face everywhere. Then again, he just couldn’t help himself at first. He’d see her face out of the corner of his eye when he would walk past stacks of newspapers on the street or in stores, and he’d snatch up the paper without thinking. He barely even registered what the headline read or what the article was about. He’d just stare at her and let his heart ache. 

There came a time when he had to stop himself from staring at her pictures in the papers. The last paper Krum allowed himself to read was when the front of the paper was taken up almost entirely by the most breathtaking picture he had ever seen -- Hermione in a beautiful sleek off-the-shoulder white gown, curving graceful around her body, her hair gracefully falling around her shoulders as she looked off into the distance. Krum’s heart pounded with anxiety. No, no, no, no, he thought. 

Krum had failed to be in contact with her when the war was over. There was no good reason for this. Everyone was a little worse for wear those days, and he couldn't even think of what to say to her, more so, he couldn't think of what he could give to her. She was a hero, and he was just a dumb quidditch star who failed to protect his own family during the war. Krum couldn't face a war hero like her, and, now, he was reaping his decision. 

He ripped open the paper to the next page with the article, another large photograph and several small ones. Each image had Hermione in them. The larger image here was of her and her new husband, Ronald Weasley. Krum had never understood why they’d started dating in the first place, well, that wasn't entirely true -- he understood it to an extent. War was damaging. He assumed they’d found comfort in each other’s familiarity. Marriage and babies spiked after the war, and so when they didn’t get married within a year of the first news article reporting that they were in a relationship, Krum assumed that it wasn’t serious and that, with time, Hermione would see that Ron was not fit for her. 

A year after that first article, there she was -- married to someone else. She looked unbelievably beautiful and she truly looked happy, as far as Krum could tell. He felt his eyes tingle; he felt his heart, still beating at an outrageous pace, sink with self-loathing pity and bury itself into to confines of his stomach. Yes. Krum used to think that their failed relationship was his own fault, but he knew that due to his cowardice it was entirely his. He tossed the paper in a waste basket, and from that point refused to look at the papers ever again. 

This meant, however, that Viktor Krum missed a series of important headlines four months later: Who Gets Custody of Harry Potter In the Split Between Granger and Weasley? ; Granger Gives Up! ; ⅔ of the Golden Trio Single Again! ; Hermione Granger: Britain’s Most Sought-After-Bachelorette -- Is Anyone Good Enough? 

In mid-July of that year, he moved to America -- he hoped to never see Hermione Granger’s face again. 

\-------

Hermione Granger was, frankly, over being a war hero -- a divorced war hero, at that, as if that were the most important thing about her. Hermione had settled into her job at the Ministry of Magic, and she used it to separate herself from the outside world. She was happy to be in a position that allowed her to delve into work, to lose herself within the paperwork, the interviews, the research, and the articles. 

Despite the reports in The Prophet and the speculations in Witch Weekly, Hermione and Ron’s failed attempt at marriage wasn’t either of their faults. Ron had not had an affair. Hermione was not controlling. They didn’t hate each other -- not even remotely. 

Sure, Ron got remarried very quickly after their divorce, but she knew that he was filling a void. That was why they had gotten married in the first place, and, at the time, it seemed like a good idea, they both thought they were genuinely happy. But really, they were both deeply, deeply sad. They’d lost so many, but at least they had one another. It wasn’t as if they didn’t love one another; they did, very much so, but it wasn’t impassioned or romantic or even very sexual: It was comfortable and safe. However, once they were married and things began to settle and people began to heal and move on and grow from the war, they both knew things were different for them than for others. 

The moment that really solidified the fault in their marriage was when Ginny and Harry consciously and knowing planned to have their second baby. 

Ginny and Harry married quickly and got pregnant with James soon after, while the pair were excited, they also hadn’t planned on having a baby so soon, but quickly James became the center at which Ginny and Harry grew and healed. So when they made the decision to try for and then got pregnant with another baby, it made Hermione realized that Harry had moved on from the war. He and Ginny, too, had lost a lot, but now they were living their lives -- happily and passionately, building a home and raising their children together in what always seemed to be chaotic bliss. 

Hermione did not feel like she had moved on from the war. 

Ron did not feel that he had moved on from the war. 

Their marriage had not allowed them to grow or heal. Their marriage kept them in a comfortable place void of growing, void of chaos, void of turmoil, void of many things that end up getting thrown into the mix of long-term relationships and marriage. 

So, four months in, they called it quits. Ron married quickly after their divorce and seemed to be in a lust-filled, passionately driven marriage now but she could no longer focus on him. She had to focus on herself. 

Hermione went on dates; she knew that socially she had to look good -- attend the events, dress-up for parties: be charming and be charmed. It was part of the political world whether she liked it or not. However, she was not willing to get herself into any relationship, there was something missing from everyone she’d met, and she couldn’t quite pin-point what. She hadn’t dated many people but she knew that all of them were missing something -- she needed someone who allowed her space without being intrusive, someone who was just as invested in something of their own as she was in her work. She longed for the comfort of having someone close by without the necessity of entertaining them. 

In order for Hermione to rise in the political world of the Ministry, she needed to gain ground with foreign affairs. Her end goal was to become Minister for Magic, which, as she had been advised by Kinglsey Shaklebolt, she was well aware of all the right steps she needed to take and was working hard doing just that. 

Almost a year to the day after her divorce, Hermione received an owl informing her that she had been offered a year long position at a branch of the American Ministry -- MACUSA, in a Northeastern town near Ilvermorny. 

Hermione was expected to begin work at the end of August, and it was recommended that she make her move at the beginning of the month, as to allow herself time to get situated. She would live in America and not return to Britain until the end of August 2006. 

Hermione felt a surge of pleasure at receiving the letter. Not because she obtained the position she worked so hard to get, a position that would help lead her to her larger goal, but because she was going to be away from everything. She loved Harry and Ginny and the babies. She loved Ron and loved that he seemed so happy, but, frankly, she was tired of them -- tired of their happiness and their ability to heal. 

She needed this time away from home. She needed to be somewhere new.


	3. Chapter 3

Krum loved America. He loved his job. Being a quidditch instructor was everything he loved about the sport without busting up his body. His first year teaching had been a success, and as the summer was beginning to die down, and the school year was beginning again he couldn’t help but feel great excitement. He trained students over the summer, but it wasn’t the same as the school year. He enjoyed working with the students over the summer -- the older ones who had clear potential on making a professional quidditch team, but his favorite thing was the first year students, especially the ones who came from non-magical families, the ones who had never ridden a broom before, perhaps had never even seen a broom used in this way before. The way the young faces would light up in awe and disbelief, them still taking in the newness of the magical world. Krum couldn’t wait for that. He did, however, enjoy all the free time he had during the summer. 

As the autumn term drew near, Krum was trying to make the most of his days out and about in the downtown area -- enjoying the shops and restaurants and breweries. Not much different than his time in Bulgaria, he kept mostly to himself. He'd established a few good friendships with colleagues and he found himself casually dating the librarian of a public wizardingly library downtown. She was sweet but she was a tad bit boring. Krum was perfectly okay with this. He didn't need excitement; he had had enough. She was a fairly educated witch, and while intelligent, he tried very hard to not compare her to Hermione, but he did -- on every level. 

Olivia was smart but not _as_ smart. She was well-read but not _that_ well read. She was taller than Hermione and she was thinner; her body wasn't as curvy as Hermione's had been, and Krum had to stop himself from considering how Hermione's body may have changed since their youth. Olivia's hair, most importantly, was as straight as could be. It was similar in color, but that was it. She wore it cut short right above her shoulders and she had swooping side bangs. He liked her quite a lot, and he berated himself constantly for thinking of Hermione, especially after all this time. 

Krum came to understand that part of him would always love Hermione, as that was just sometimes how your first love goes, especially when your separation is out of your control. He believed he'd held onto her for so long because of all the chaos that was endured during the war; there wasn't a chance to meet or fall in love with anyone else, and he had simply been too desperately sad afterwards to find happiness in anything other than a memory of something long past. Now, though, he wanted to move one. He liked Olivia-the-librarian, and he hoped that he would fall in love with her. He wanted to fall in love with her. Part of him worried and was fearful he'd never love anyone else. Part of him would question whether he'd ever loved Hermione at all, that maybe he was incapable of love and he had just misunderstood his feelings for her as something else entirely. Part of him, a small, absolutely ridiculous part of him, believed that he still clung onto Hermione because he was meant to love her and that they were meant to be together. Now, Krum was a logical man. He was not ruled by his emotions, and so he only allowed himself to entertain these thoughts occasionally, on nights where he'd wake up for no reason and sleep evaded him, and he'd let himself hope for her. 

Krum had found that he hadn't been thinking about Hermione as much this summer. As it was summer holiday, he and Olivia had been able to spend more time together. He was enjoying himself, really and truly, for the first time in a very long time. There wasn't a constant flock of people asking him questions about the war or about quidditch. The best part was that he didn't have to put on a show, no one expected anything of him other than what was on paper -- he taught flying and quidditch and he trained athletes; that was his job, and he did it well. Olivia didn't have any expectations of him either, she knew he was famous and she had initially gushed over him quite a bit, but she respected why he'd come to America and what it was he wanted with his new job and new home. She never asked him questions about the war. She never made him out to be a celebrity. He was grateful for this. 

He was feeling very grateful for _all_ of this when he was walking downtown one evening. He was headed to a brewery to meet a friend, one of the charms professors, for a pint when he _thought_ he saw her. On the other side of the street, out of the corner of his eye he saw a wild amount of curly hair bouncing up and down behind it's owner. In that glance he knew it was Hermione, but when stopped dead in his tracks to take a second look, the person, and their hair, was gone. He shook his head. He knew that it couldn't have been Hermione. Hermione was in Britain. Hermione was working for the Ministry of Magic. Hermione was married to Ron Weasley. He started walking again and made his way into the brewery to meet his friend. 

\--

A few days later, Hermione was grocery shopping. She had been in America for almost three weeks now, and she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Her job wasn't set to start for another week, and so she had the time to herself to do whatever it was she wanted. The commotion concerning her was minimal, and she was so very grateful for it. She had met with her new boss and some of her colleagues for dinner one night, and while they, of course, knew who she was, they weren't overbearingly interested in her role in defeating Lord Voldemort. She was happy to be beginning her job without the pressure of her status as a war hero. 

Hermione spent her days in a lounging luxury. She went to the park and laid in the grass soaking up the sun. and she was amazed at how much she loved the sun and the warmth. She fell in love with sun hats, skirts, and sun dresses. She loved how the sun warmed her body and how, at least this time of year, rainy gloomy weather was rare. She sipped peach and ginger cider as she read in a hammock. She munched on crackers and cheese and fresh fruit as she read on her patio. She felt more at ease than she had in years. 

As she was walking up to the checkout line, she happily eyed her grocery cart which was filled with pomegranates, strawberries, blackberries, crispy peppercorn crackers, rosemary butter crackers, cheeses, cider, and beer. She felt overwhelmed with happiness. This was all hers and it was all for her, and she could get smashingly drunk on her patio and no one cared because no one was watching. No one would speculate about depression from her failed marriage, no one would write an article about her weight and how she should cut back on her carbohydrates; Hermione was free to do what Hermione wanted to do. 

She glanced up from her cart at the sound of a familiar voice. She _thought_ it was the voice of someone she hasn't heard since she was 18. She thought she had heard Viktor Krum. His voice was deep and it used to vibrate through her. When in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, if he was speaking, she could feel it in her chest just slightly; it spread through her and warmed her. She felt that for a split second in the grocery store when she glanced up, but the feeling was fleeting, and upon looking up she saw no one who resembled him. 

She went to her small rental home that MACUSA has provided for her, and instead of spending the night on the patio reading in bliss, she took a sleeve of crackers and the bigger bottle of cider to the bathtub with her. She ate the sleeve in a fury of thought, and she drank far too much, which meant she had to charm the water to stay warm while she let the alcohol wear off. This gave her ample time to think. It wasn't as if she hadn't thought about Krum, she had. 

After the war, she waited to hear from him. She checked in on him. She knew he had lost his family, but he was alive. And then before long he was playing quidditch again. He was back to being a celebrity. Hermione followed the papers religiously and saw all the articles that speculated about him and his love life; there was always a picture with a new witch it seemed. Hermione was bothered by this at first, but then she realized that she had to just move forward. She'd asked him to be in touch, and he hadn't. She wasn't going to beg him to speak to her, that was for sure, and, so she married Ron and stopped paying attention to Viktor Krum. 

She sat in the tub, now popping blackberries into her mouth, and wondered what he was doing, where he was, who he was now, and who he was with.

She thought again of the voice she'd heard and how she was so certain that it had been his. The way her heart jumped, the way the pit of her stomach squirmed slightly, the way her body seemed to immediately remember how alive and beautiful and wanted he'd made her feel back then. 

Getting out of the tub and into bed, he was the last thing she thought of before she drifted off to sleep, unaware of his proximity to her in that very moment, unaware that he was in the same town as she was, and unaware that, at this point, there were only a slim four days left before they would see one another again. 

When she woke the next morning, an anxiety dream about her new job took over her thoughts, and she didn’t let her mind ruminate on Viktor Krum again. 

\----

Hermione had been at her job a total of two full days, thus far. She was quite pleased with it. Today, Friday, they’d planned for her to tour Ilvermorny. Her new boss, Madeline Crawford, believed Ilvermorny was an integral part of understanding the political world -- the dean of the school held a very important position within the congress, and it was paramount that Hermione met him and understood how the education system factored into the world of politics. She found this particularly interesting considering how long Hogwarts was separate and, at times, shunned from the Ministry. Hermione believed she already had a lot to learn from her time here. While in America, she was to serve as the liaison between Illvermorny and MACUSA, a position she hoped to convince Shacklebolt to create upon her return home. 

Ilvermorny was just as breathtaking as Hogwarts, and Hermione felt a tinge of envy that she hadn’t had the chance to study abroad while in school; however, she mused, she supposed she was sort of doing that now. 

Dean Carver Edumdson was a lovely man, and he and Madeline guided Hermione through the beautiful walkways and classrooms and offices. This is where Hermione learned that her office would be here at Ilvermorny. She tired very hard to not act too excited, as to not possibly hurt Madeline’s feelings, but she was thrilled. Her office was small, but beautiful. Three of the four walls were covered in brick.  _ Brick!  _ The front wall was a warm golden yellow. She had a mahogany desk and a leather chair. The back wall had a radius window that opened up. Edmundson shrugged his shoulders, “It’s one of our smaller offices, and I’m sorry for that, but…” 

Hermione cut him off, “No. Please, no. This is absolutely stunning. Thank you so much for giving me the space.”

He smiled warmly, “You may decorate it however you like, it’s yours for the next year. Try to not have anything too odd plant wise, the last person who had this office had a plant that spit venom every hour or so. It was quite unpleasant to come in here.” 

Hermione chuckled softly, “Oh, no. I’m quite decent at quite a lot of things, but honestly I don’t have much of a green thumb, and I don’t know much about plants. Simple plants in here for me.” 

“Excellent! Let’s keep going. Shall we? Do you enjoy quidditch Ms. Granger?” He held out his hand for her to lead the way out of her new office. 

“Umm..it’s alright. I enjoy it occasionally.” She didn’t want to appear as if she didn’t like it, but she didn’t want to feign too much enthusiasm and then get stuck into a conversation where she couldn’t hold her own. 

“Well, as you know, school starts Monday, but we have had some of our top players training all summer. Last year we hired an excellently famous quidditch player, and he has fit right in here. I’m on the board for the AQL, American Quidditch League, and we are really hoping to give Europe a run for its money down the road.” 

“A good friend of mine, Ginny Weasley-Potter is quite the quidditch player. She plays for the …” 

“Holyhead Harpies, yes! I’m afraid we’d never convince the Potters to leave England for her to teach here though. Plus, she has many years left in her, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, goodness! Absolutely! However, I think her mum would have your head if you had something to do with Ginny and Harry moving her grandbabies all the way to America, though.”

He chuckled and nodded in agreeance, “Yes! As a grandfather myself, I understand that sentiment.”

They’d been walking through the grounds when they came upon the quidditch pitch. It was, like everything else, beautiful in its architectural design. 

Hermione turned away from the pitch to admire the rest of the school’s grounds. From here, you could see the entire scope of the campus -- the beautiful brick buildings, the gigantic oak trees, the soft inviting grass, the lake. She was sucked into a vision of herself lying in the grass reading, walking along the halls of the buildings, sitting at her desk and admiring the view of her window, when a voice pulled her abruptly from her daydreams.

“Dean Edmundson! Coming to get a sneak peak of vhat our players are up to? You know you’ve got to vait like everyone else!” This was followed by a friendly, overly jovial laugh by both the man the voice belonged to and Dean Edmundson. 

Edmundson rested a hand gently on Hermione’s forearm, urging her to turn and meet this new person, but that voice was one she knew, and the humming in her chest gave it away before she even laid eyes on him.

“No, no. Viktor. I’m not going to spoil anything for myself, I was just giving our new foreign congressional education liason a tour of the grounds.”

Viktor suddenly took notice of the woman standing next to Edumdson: Her short stature; her curved frame; her chestnut hair charmed into a bun with her wand, and when he saw a few gentle curls framing her face, as she turned, his heart knew, before his brain did, who this woman was.

Edmundson was in the process of introducing her when she met his gaze fully, “Viktor, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Viktor Krum.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof! I am so sorry it has taken me so long to update this story! I plan to update it at the end of each week. Stay tuned, enjoy, and, as always, thank you for reading!
> 
> Also, this is completely unbeta'd, so please forgive any errors I missed in oversight.

Hermione's face lit up and Viktor's didn't quite light up but it didn't quite fall — not like his stomach had, which seemed to be squishing around in the grass. 

Internally, Hermione was bubbling with nerves, but she'd been in politics long enough that she knew how and when to grin and act as if she was completely okay.

"Viktor Krum!" she exclaimed.

"Hello, Hermione," he said her name slowly, it rolled off his tongue like a memory. 

The dean looked absolutely delighted, "Oh! Of course, you two know each other! How could I have forgotten the Triwizard Tournament? Hogwarts hosted Durmstrang!” 

Hermione nodded and smiled softly, “Yes. Viktor and I came to know each other quite well in our youth.”

Viktor nodded in agreement and turned his head to look back behind him at the quidditch pitch before turning back towards them, “I do need to get back to my players. I’ll see you tonight, Carver? Still 7?”

“Absolutely! I’m looking forward to it. Perhaps, Miss Granger, will you join us? As a faculty, we like to celebrate the end of summer together. We go to a local brewery here. Have some drinks. Have some good food. Enjoy one another’s company before students get thrown into the mix.” 

Viktor’s eyes darted over to her; he wasn’t sure what he wanted — part of him was desperate to speak with her, to soak her in, and another part of him wanted nothing more than to be far away from her. Hermione glanced at him before looking back towards Dean Edmondson, “Mmmm. I don’t know. I do have a lot of unpacking to do, so it’s probably not the best…”

“Nonsense, Miss Granger. You need to come. It’ll be good for you to meet everyone in a casual setting, no?” Hermione let out a deep sigh, her shoulders dropped a bit in resignation, “Well, alright then.” She glanced at Viktor again; he was kicking the grass beneath his flying boots, and, without saying anything else, he turned on his heel and headed back towards the quidditch pitch. 

Dean Edmondson gently nudged Hermione back towards the building, “Don’t worry about, Krum. He’s often quite moody, as I’m sure you remember. He was probably just annoyed that we disturbed his practice.” Hermione nodded, and she let Dean Edmondson continue her tour.

—

Later that evening, Hermione and Viktor found themselves both tormented over how to approach the evening. Neither knew how to talk to the other, but both knew that it didn't matter if they  _ wanted _ to speak or not, they both knew they  _ needed _ to speak to one another. 

The brewery was a wide-open area with smooth wooden bar tops and long, low communal tables. Hermione arrived a bit later than the expected time, while this was not her usual style, she did not want to be the first person there, nor did she want to slowly be introduced to people as they arrived, she'd rather be introduced all at once to the group. As the Dean introduced her, she noted that Viktor was not around the table, but off on the other side of the room playing darts. Perhaps, he was just as quiet and introverted as before. Perhaps, he wasn’t as bothered by her presence as she initially suspected. Glancing over at him, she caught him looking at her. As their eyes met, his brow furrowed and his eye darkened. “Well,” Hermione thought, “ Maybe he is bothered by my presence.” She pursed her lips against the rim of her glass of orange wheat beer and meandered over to the rest of the faculty. 

An hour or so past and Hermione had found herself feeling quite comfortable amongst her new colleagues. Everyone was warm and nice and interesting. It was exactly the refreshing experience she’d been longing for. She stood to grab herself another beer; the orange wheat beer with hints of honey was absolutely everything she’d ever wanted in a beer. It tasted like sunshine — the smoothness of the honey, the warmth of the malted wheat, the bite of the citrus. 

Hermione was pleasantly warmed by her sunshine beer and was looking around the brewery — admiring how happy and lighthearted everyone seemed and just how good it all seemed when she bumped into someone. She stopped and looked up at the person to apologize, “I’m sor--Hey! Viktor!” She looked up at the tall, mass of a man she’d ran into and smiled. 

His brow, again, furrowed at her. “I’m sorry. I was in another world. Are you getting another beer?” Before he had the chance to answer her, she’d pressed herself up against the bar, “I’ll have another, and one of whatever he was drinking. Put it on my tab. As she waited on the beers to be poured, she turned around and leaned against the bar, her hands resting on the edge of the wood, “I had no idea you lived here now, and you’re teaching! That’s wonderful. Do you enjoy it?” 

“America or teaching?” 

“Both!” and she turned to the bar, thanked the bartender for the beers and handed Viktor’s off to him.

He nodded his thanks to her and said, “I enjoy both America and teaching.” She nodded to his reply, hoping he’d ask her something, give some aid to her conversation. They stood there for quite some time without speaking. The loud brewery a contrast to the silence between them. Finally, Hermione had wracked her brain and figured out what to say.

“Oh! You know, the other day, when I was packing to come here, I was picking out which books to bring with me, and I was looking for my copy of  _ The Great Gatsby.  _ It seemed so appropriate to have considering I was coming to America, but I couldn't find it. And then I remembered…"

Viktor interrupted her, "That I had it."

"Yes!" She threw her arms up, resting one hand on his upper arm. "I lent it to you at the beginning of summer before I went off on my ultimate quest with Harry and Ron!" She chuckled a little at the words "ultimate quest", she simply wanted to make light of the situation, of what had ultimately torn them apart. "Do you…you wouldn't happen to still have it, would you?” 

He, taking a long drink from his beer — a dark stout, nodded, "Yes." Hermione let a small smile play on her lips, but internally she was deeply frustrated. He was making it nearly impossible for her to have a conversation with him; his answers were short and terse, they offered her very little and opened up even less. 

"Oh! That's wonderful! Is it here with you? Do you live here, in America, permanently now?”

He nodded, yes. She supposed he meant yes to both, or maybe just yes to the first one, she wasn’t sure, but she went with the notion that he had meant yes to both. 

“You do? Really? I mean, I could always go to a Muggle bookshop and buy it, but I do have such an attachment to that one. It’s such an attractive addition. Wouldn’t you say so?”

Krum shrugged his shoulders, “I suppose.”

“Will you bring it to me sometime? Do you know where my office is?”

He nodded again before walking away from the bar and taking a seat at the table among his, no  _ their _ , coworkers; she followed his lead. She didn’t sit away from him, but she didn’t sit right next to him either. She took a seat between the two potions professors. Very quickly and easily, conversation flowed again between the colleagues, and even with her first love sitting across from her, Hermione felt, again, a great sense of comfort and ease.

After some time of regaling stories of their youth, Alex Dennis leaned forward a bit towards Hermione, “So, tell us. What was Viktor like in his prime? Quidditch star! Triwizard champion! Was he truly good at quidditch? We hear stories but we all know what they say about teachers, what you can’t do...”

Jordan Childers, the school mediwitch interjected, “You teach! You’re all a bunch of bumbling buffoons. Teachers…” she smiled widely at Alex and he rolled his eyes at her, “Come off it, Jordan. Seriously, though, really, he keeps saying he was a quidditch star but….” Alex leaned forward and looked at Krum two people down from him and winked. 

Hermione felt the heat rise in her cheeks slightly, “Oh. He was, and I’m sure he still is, quite the player. My ex-husband, when we were younger, I thought for sure he loved Viktor Krum more than anyone else in the world. I’m fairly certain the love Ron felt for Viktor before our 4th year was more than he felt for me on our wedding day.” She laughed a bit at this and as did the others around her. Glancing at Viktor, she saw that he was just looking down at his hands, avoiding the gaze of her or anyone else. 

“You were married?” inquired another colleague. Hermione took a long sip of her beer and nodded, “I was. I think marriage is a fairly common product of war. You’ve lost a lot. You yourself are lost. I guess it’s quite romantic when it ends up being a successful marriage…”

“What happened?” Hermione raised her eyebrows, she was quite amazed at how openly nosey Americans were, but in reality, she didn’t mind talking about it. It was easy to talk about it to people who hadn’t been directly involved, and seeing as how Viktor wasn’t part of the conversation, he didn’t seem to count. 

She took in a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling before she responded, “Well, he and I had been friends for a very long time. I loved him since I was 11. Not romantically. I loved him like a brother. He and Harry were my first true friends, not just in the wizarding world, but  _ at all _ . Ronald’s friendship meant everything to me. There was a time when it was just the three of us on the run, and Ronald left me and Harry — he got angry about something,” she waved her hand as she said this, to try and take away seriousness from the painful memory, “and he was gone.”

“We couldn’t communicate with one another. We couldn’t communicate with  _ anyone.  _ I had no idea if he was okay. I was heartbroken by his abandonment. Later, he returned. Later, we won the war. Later, we married. Once it was all over, I don’t think either of us was willing to risk losing each other, we just mistook our emotions for romance; we believed our marriage was a means of healing, but it wasn’t because we lacked...something. Whatever it is what make two people tick when they’re together.. It was love, but it wasn’t love like I knew it could be. Love as I’d experienced before.”

All this spilled suddenly and without want from her mouth: Her brain felt lighter and fuzzier all at once — she blamed the beer, the small amount of food she’d had, and her exhaustion for the way she was allowing herself to be revealed to these strangers — spread out and spilled; she found she wanted to talk about everything with these people because they didn’t know any of it. The implication of her last sentence had only meant anything to her. She was certain that it would have meant something to Viktor if he had been listening to her, but she was certain that he wasn’t. And, yet, he had been; he listened to the tone of her voice, the rise and fall of her words, the rhythm of her sentences, and, with the slightest bit of hope, he believed he’d heard the undertones.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but it's a necessary transition chapter! As it is Tuesday, perhaps I'll have the next chapter up before Sunday, too! As I may have mentioned, my goal is to have a new chapter by the end of each week, and, considering the state of affairs right now, I have a lot more time on my hands for writing, so we may get two chapters this week!

As the evening dwindled down, Hermione was heading onto the sidewalk when she heard a voice behind her, "Hermione. I do not live too var away from here. Ve can go get _ Ze Great Gatsby _ now if you would like." It seemed that the dark beer had allowed his accent to sneak back in. To hear it, his accent made Hermionen’s belly do a familiar flip. She was absolutely exhausted, but she simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity of having a more substantial conversation with Viktor. Hermione smiled and nodded, “Absolutely! Yes! Perfect! Let’s go!” Her enthusiasm oozed and he was reminded of how she would get when discussing a book she loved or subject she was particularly enthused over. 

He wasn’t certain that speaking to her at the end of the evening after they’d both had a good bit to drink, was the best of his ideas, but he had listened to her talk to his colleagues for hours, and, as he did, he found himself immensely jealous of everyone around them. They were just getting to know Hermione; they all were experiencing her for the first time, and what wouldn’t he give to be in that position again? To get to learn all her quirks and oddities. He felt a bit like a fraud sitting amongst everyone else: He knew Hermione Granger. He knew so much about her and, yet, here he was unable to  _ really  _ talk to her. Of course, he could talk to her; he wanted to talk to her, but, by Gods, he was petrified. He had worked so hard to not be in love with Hermione Granger, and he knew that if he began to speak to Hermione again — truly speak to her, then there would never be a chance for him unless it was _ with  _ her. 

He began to walk in the direction of his home, and she took three quick steps to catch up with him. “Did you ever read it?  _ The Great Gatsby, _ I mean?” He nodded, “Yes. I read it a vew times.” She clapped her hands together, “Wonderful! I do distinctly remember telling you that you shouldn’t write American Literature off just because it was American,” she nudged him gently with her elbow. 

He glanced at her. She was still very much the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago, but at the same time so different — she was so sure of herself, so confident in who she was, so unabashed about her passion and her passions. His heart swelled at the sight of her face alive with excitement. “And now look at you! Living in America! Have you read any more American classics?” 

He nodded his head from side to side, “A few. Hemingway, of course. A man’s writer!” he did a fist with his hand and spoke in a voice gruffer than usual; she laughed at his display of “masculinity” which prompted him too to laugh. They both paused and smiled at one another, holding their gaze. It had taken a few hours, but they had found their warm nook of comfort with one another again. 

“Oh, Merlin. Yes, I’m sure you loved all the bullfighting and drinking!” she laughed as she said this.

“No, no, no. Herrrrrrrmione, come on. I expected better.” He reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, the weight of it heavy but soft and gentle, and he looked into her eyes again with seriousness. “There’s love in zer too.  _ The Sun Also Rises? A Farewell to Arms?  _ Love stories. They’re just about love.” He paused in thought and looked down at the ground with a shrug and said, “Lost love, but love nonetheless.”

They walked on for a bit longer and he turned to make his way up the steps of a beautiful brownstone townhome. “It’s late. I’ll be quick.” She followed him up the stairs and into his home. It was beautiful, minimal, very different from the cluster and chaos she seemed to produce. He walked over to shelving and grabbed her copy of  _ The Great Gatsby _ . Handing it off to her, their fingers touched slightly. Upon the touch of his fingers against hers, she was reminded of the first time he held her hand in the library of Hogwarts. 

She had been studying; he had been reviewing quidditch plays. Her hand was resting on the table, her mind lost in a potions essay, when his fingers, next to hers on the table, grazed her pinky gently and tenderly. She reached out her own pinky to say “hello” and caressed his finger in return. As if it were an invitation, he moved his hand over hers, enveloping the smallness of it and linking their fingers together. 

No words were shared: She kept on reading; he kept on reviewing plays. They remained that way for what felt like hours. And, now, to feel his fingers graze against hers in such a similar way made her heartache. She clutched the novel against her chest and looked down at her feet, “Thank you, Viktor. I’ll see you around.” He stepped towards her, for what, he wasn’t entirely sure, nor was she, but Hermione’s heart was aching, her head was dizzy from the beer and general exhaustion, her brain had too much to think about, and, so, before he could step yet another step closer she whispered, “Goodnight, Viktor” and apparated back to her home.

Lying in the warmth of her bed half an hour so later with her beloved Fitzgerald novel, Hermione ran her thumb against the pages, feeling the warmth of the paper, smelling the familiar scent of old books mixed with a hint of leather and tobacco. As the edges of the pages traced along with her thumb, they were abruptly stopped at a gap between the pages near the end of the novel. Hermione slowly pulled the pages apart. Onto her lap fell a sealed envelope with her name written on in Viktor's handwriting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We may not find out what is in the letter for a while, and I'm sorry in advance. Hermione will have read it of course in the next chapter, but she won't share it for a while. I can't control her, okay? 
> 
> Again, thanks for reading!


End file.
